


If This Isn't Hate

by pranxtorr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Rivalmance, drunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pranxtorr/pseuds/pranxtorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gets drunk after an argument with Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Isn't Hate

**Author's Note:**

> I know that lots of people have a problem with the rivalmances in Dragonage 2, but let me explain myself first. The first time I romanced Fenris, it turned out as a rivalmance, and that was with me trying to be nice to him. But then, when I picked the mage ending, he left, because he wasn’t in 100% rivalry. So then the next time that I played it, I tried to get him to 100% rivalry, but I only supported mages. I didn’t support slavers, I never told him to stop whining, none of that. So that’s why Hawke is in a rivalmance with him. She hates slavers, but supports mages. “Agree to disagree.”
> 
> Rivalmance Fenris x Hawke because that’s what I live for.

Hawke had a headache.  Talking to Fenris always gave her one, their never ending arguments started to wear on here after about an hour or so.  They mostly fought about mages, of course, their stances on the issue complete opposites.  Leaving his mansion always left her in need of the Hanged Man’s strongest drink.

The smell of sweat, alcohol, and stale… something met her nose as soon as she opened the door to the pub.  The dim lighting and jovial, drunken laughter eased some tension off of her shoulders; the Hanged Man was, in a word, home.  More so, sometimes, than even her own estate.

She made her way over to the bar counter, easing herself in between two miserable bastards already drowning themselves in their mugs despite the night’s early hour.  “One of the best you have,” she told Norah, receiving a sarcastic laugh in turn.  She took the mug full of ale gratefully and was fully intending to join the men on either side of her when a certain dwarf made an appearance.

“Hawke,” Varric said in greeting.  “What are you doing here this late?  It isn’t Wicked Grace night already, is it?”

She smiled at the welcome companion.  “Can’t a girl get a drink?”

“Well, you aren’t just any girl,” he said, returning the grin.  He gestured to the stool next to her, “Mind if I join you?”

She waved her hand and he sat.  “So, what are you doing here, Hawke?”

“Needed a drink after talking to Fenris,” she replied bluntly.

The dwarf laughed, “That’ll happen.  So what were you two fighting about this time?  The color of the sky?”

“No matter how much I tell him he’s wrong, he still insists that it’s bright pink.”

“Elves,” Varric rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold a serious face.

Hawke sighed, “I just… I always had to take care of Bethany when we were younger.  Keep her hidden from the templars, you know?”

“You’re very protective of mages.”

“And he hates them.  And he never lets me forget about that.  If we could just go ten minutes without talking about it, but Maker forbid!”

“You could just tell him to leave,” Varric said, knowing full well why she would never do that.

“As if he’s ever listened to me before,” Hawke smirked.  Then the smile fell off her face.  “I want to hate him, I really do, but I just… can’t.”

As she said it, she could practically hear Fenris snarling I don’t need your pity, Hawke!  But it wasn’t pity.  It was anger and frustration, screaming and kicking.  It was chaos and insanity and long hours of fighting with each other.  It was knowing that despite those feelings, he would still take a blade for her, and she for him.

Varric put a hand on her shoulder and she took a long drink.

* * *

Hawke had stumbled out of the bar around three in the morning, the headache dulled and a pleasant warmth replacing it.  Varric had pointed her towards her towards her estate in Hightown and had insisted that he walk her home, but she had only waved him off, saying that then _he_ would have to walk home alone.

She hadn’t run into any trouble on her trek home, she wasn’t sure she would be able to fight her way out of things anyway.  It had been uneventful, even her buzzing mind had quieted down.

When she reached her front door, she stopped.  Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps Hawke was always this bad with judgment, but she wasn’t home.  Her drunken feet had carried her straight to Fenris’ mansion.


End file.
